Death
by Lozzien Lavender
Summary: Harry was a Child, the one chosen to Vanish the terror of the Dark Lord! ...But he was still, only a Child. How could the Wizarding World even put HIM up to all this! Harry couldn't handle this much pressure! So, he fled, he ran and never looked back... Never to realise that the past steadily, slowly, undoubtedly caught up to him.
1. Death

**Hi~**

**I just figured I'd let you know a few little things - Only small little things!**

**1. I am currently at College studying, so please do not expect much from me at the moment.**

**2. This story is basically, my venting; a family member of mine has recently died, so please respect that when reviewing (if you choose to do so).**

**3. I AM NOT DEAD~ Whoohoo for that! :3 see -waves hands-**

**4. This is my take on what would be the result of Harry not being able to handle to pressure of being the "Chosen One". So viola~!**

**5. Tora is still nagging on my mind, don't you people worry about that, it's just on holiday at the minute, it may come back better than ever, so expect some adjustment later...a lot later... probably a while later... I don't know whenever I have a minute to spare I believe ^^ OK? OK!**

**Now on to the story~!**

**Lozzien :3 (catface)**

* * *

Harry breathed heavily, his breathe turning to foggy frost in front of him. He covered his mouth quickly, and snorted out condensing air in panicked hyperventilation. Knees attempting to mesh with his chest and feet curled tight like slumbering dormice, he knew to be silent, and he knew to disappear. He had lost his wand, it was just over there, a few mere meters away; not that he wanted to get it mind you, not that he could even use it either. Not when there were death eaters just outside the door who put wards of some kind up.

His eyes widened and his hand over his mouth began to quiver as his scar began to emit sharply stinging sensations directly onto his skull, like an impatient tapping foot, mimicking those oncoming footsteps - echoing from all the walls - of a familiar, very familiar man.

-0-

Voldemort's stance was stony, yet strong and threatening. He held himself high, powerful, back curved like the body of a Cobra, fluid; along with the flare of one's hood. Voldemort was indeed a formidable man.

He softly conversed with thought out tones to one of his dear, dear knights; who told him the boy was stuck within this room, that they had raised wards to prevent any attempts for him to escape, knew the boy was there but had vanished entirely, they stood guard at the door blocking it with their bodies, so the boy couldn't possibly get past them; they had called him as soon as possible to deal with the boy himself – out of respect, of course.

The real reason was probably to prevent him from punishing them on yet another of their failed attempts to apprehend the boy, lest everything go wrong – _AGAIN._

Voldemort sighed slightly, inconspicuously, and addressed them to step aside. A cloak donned him that moulded to the floor, making him part of the room, dressing him like a living statue, unbreakable, impenetrable, immortal.

He stepped through the door.

-0-

His feet squirmed and eyes glued shut, his entire body danced to the hummingbird's heartbeat; in fear. The pain had grew stronger, he clenched at his cloak in fear and pain and desperation. It was the only thing keeping him alive.

-0-

Voldemort stood in an empty room. It had a floor, four walls, no windows, a door and a wand. It seemed empty, but the presence in his mind told him otherwise. He glanced at the places he figured the boy would attempt to go, not that he could go anywhere.

And something caught his eye.

He walked slowly and deliberately to one corner of the room.

-0-

Harry's eyes began to leak, and his whimpered voice sounded so loud in the room that even people in space were sure to hear him. The pain, oddly, was fading rapidly. He could think again.

A caress on the hood of this cloak, on his head ceased all thoughts. It was gentle, soft, and delicate; scratching lightly on his scalp as it lifted his hood and ran through his hair.

It felt… good.

A part of his mind cooed at the treatment, wanted to be loved, so fragile.

His hood was pushed off his head across onto his shoulders.

A sharp stab of fear clenched is entire being as he squinted through his tears into victorious blood red eyes; the eyes of the blood of his victims.

-0-

"Hello Harry".

Harry's shaking caused him to fall down upon himself landing at Voldemort's feet, kneeling, head bowed, sobbing.

"You thought you could run, Harry."

Harry shook his head viciously, and hiccupped with a deep cough as he struggled to breathe.

"No? But why all this _running_, Harry, why did you _hide, _Harry?" The voice was so worried for him, like condescending a toddler for a stupid and dangerous line of thinking

Tears streamed down Harry's face, twin pinpricked tears touched the floor.

"I-I-I d-don't" He heaved heavily, more waves of ocean sadness crept down his face, into his lips, into his nose, down his neck, uncomfortably cooling his fear before it crept up like a kitten – a dangerous 100 foot high one who thought you were a butterfly, a snack to eat – and pounced once again, startling his sobbing into replay.

Voldemort leaned down, towering over the boy, cradling the boys skull softly, carding through the hair on the back of his head gently, oh so gently, as Harry stared at the ground, determined to make a salt lake by the tears he was falling.

"You don't?" It was soft, yet mocking, like a deadly whisper on a breeze before the killer struck from the night, or a snake from the grass.

Harry heaved a breath once more, and rushed out his words, cringing at the weak soft voice that sobbed out his words.

"I don't want to die!"

Harry muttered for a few moments. Voice whittling down until it was a mere murmur.

"I don't want to die, please don't, I don't, please, please, I don't want to die, please don't kill me, please please, please. Please."

"Aww, Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry." Voldemort raised Harry's forehead and gently kissed his scar, the mocking cooing started up again like a revived engine, setting another rush of tears leaping from the Boy-Who-Lived and apparently wanted to keep living.

Harry lifted his head slowly, staring into those deadly, dangerous eyes with a soft glimmer of _something_ hidden within.

"I don't plan on killing you."

Harry's eyes widened and his face broke into pieces onto the flooded floor of pain and terror, ready to dry into submission. He leant against the gentle, soft, fabric of Voldemort's cloak, mind flooding with relief. He felt happy, the first time in his life it felt, the unknown emotion of joy and elevation, he was flying on air, better than any old broomstick he'd ever ridden.

"I plan on doing much worse."

Harry was falling, falling into the Whomping Willow with the force of a hundred thousand Centaurs, his body and mind shattering in one feeble moment of shock, shattering like glass, and hit by thunder.

Harry's face crumbled and he became one with the anguish deep inside once more. He leant back and stared frozen at the wicked grin too sharp to be kind to him.

The pale hand of the devil, softly stroked Harry's cheek, he leant forward, and breathed deeply, into Harry's ear. Harry frozen with fear couldn't move, he couldn't force himself to move, he was stuck; he would have moved if he could have once Voldemort softly unbound his cloak, folded it with delicacy – a greedy look in his eye – and tucked it under his own; but he couldn't.

"You should have remained hidden, dear, _sweet child._"

Harry's world was slowly becoming darker. He tried to break free but it did nothing, he couldn't do anything; he was _useless!_ And the wizarding world knew it too.

Who could possibly have the power to go up against this man? Dumbledore probably if he wasn't dead.

"_Death will take you away, child. You went to death willingly, sobbing at his feet. Oh, my poor, dear, child._" Voldemort spoke soft snake sounding sentences, seductively sliding a finger under Harry's chin as his blackening world focused on the fading world of red, red blood eyes.

"_No one can escape Death, Harry_".


	2. Running

**Hi~ I've decided to upload a new chapter... making it (non-complete) I was going to leave it as it is, but I forced something outta me, venting as it were, and this beast emerged from a single idea. I have some more, so when I'm free I shall write. But not often so, don't expect much. A little note I'm not sure many people know; but I believe is true. Is that, when you rely on a muse for your stories, you won't become a good writer, because it can come and go more often than a LadyGirl's monthly. Trust me on that. So I'm practising, just writing, and hoping it comes out ok.**

**So do tell me how you think this is! :3**

**Loves you lots~**

**Lozzien xxx**

* * *

He ran. He hadn't stopped. He had benefits, and skills to aid him, but they were only limited use. So he hadn't stopped. He kept running. He hadn't even spared a moment, he couldn't; he _had_ to keep moving. If he didn't – well, that wasn't really an option.

As soon as he decided, he ran away from Number 4 Privet Drive. He ran down the road, down past the little abandoned park, down under the subway, and headed towards the town centre. He didn't stop, he couldn't. He released Hedwig, she would slow him down despite her speediness, sending letters wasn't going to be of use – unless someone wanted to track him down using her, he couldn't bear the thought - besides she would be better off in the wild where she could remain hidden and fend for herself. She has done before, when he was locked up. Nothing's changed really. Only this time:

He escaped.

He kept to the darkness, travelling in areas of jungle, urban or rural; it works all the same at keeping him hidden. In the cities, he was just another face in the crowd, if he was spotted, down an alley and hid, into a building, into a bathroom, and crawl into the vents until it was safe. Hopefully; it worked most of the time. The other times? Well, Harry was very fast; although that's a given really ever since he went up against that dragon.

But this was not a dragon; the enemy was a lot sneakier than a dragon or a dementor or a three-headed dog, or a basilisk. The enemy could be anywhere. Right next to you even, sat on the same bus, on the same train, in the same crowd… The downside is that you could have at least 5 magical persons looking for you in the very same crowd, it's a rush for the adrenaline to try and get away incognito, and it doesn't always work.

Harry was very fast.

Come hell or high water, he was not going back to be some martyr. He was Harry Goddamn Potter, He was the boy from the cupboard under the stairs, he was Boy, he was Freak, he was Himself; and like _hell_ was he going to let anyone take that away from him.

That was probably his arrogance. From his father's side.

When in the countryside, he didn't think many people would have thought to look down all the shortcuts across fields, or even the nature trails, or the public bridleways – which are muddy, overgrown and very hard to trek without a horse with said bridle, but Harry was an opportunist – from his youth probably, when Dudley, Petunia, and Vernon left him *gasp* home alone! He would grasp the window by its frame, unlatch the hinges and lung out with the speed of a snake to, say, play on Dudley's computer, eat some food he had been denied, watch the TV. The Luxuries. – So he gathered that if this path was hard for him it would be equally if not more so for any followers on his tail.

Well, that was the theory.

That was during the beginning of his running. He ran so fast, and slowed down, thinking no one was following… like an utter idiot. He then realised the wizarding world was out for him, searching for him.

This includes but is not limited to; The Malfoys, Dumbledore, The Whole Order of the Phoenix, Dobby, Rita Skeeter, Colin Creevey, Hermione, Susan Bones, The entire Ravenclaw House, All the Muggleborns, Mudbloods, Blood Traitors, Squibs, Purebloods, Sentient Being, Creatures, any Muggles in on the joke, the Ministry and finally, Fudge and his Frog Princess Umbridge, because they need a category all to themselves.

How he knew this? Well, it was quite amusing actually, _IF HE WASN'T FREAKING OUT ABOUT IT!_

He had stopped inside this large shopping centre; it had large glass ceilings, curved in a bell, light shined through from all angles; long escalators travelling in confusing dimensions to a varying of levels seemingly random which all encircled a large fountain. Some of the escalators were broken, and the fountain seemed to be wearing down as seen from the rather pathetic dribble of water that gushed down the side instead of what one would suspect to be; a rather valiant display of hydro electronics at work…

At this point Harry began to wonder to himself, whether or not he should pretend to be as clever as he was supposed making himself out to be.

Harry had no idea what hydro electronics were. They probably weren't even real. He made up the word. The water was under pressure he assumed, which is something electrical he – also – assumed, and so; whoosh! Water sprout out!

Considering he only had primary school level of appropriate schooling in the muggle world, Harry felt like a world renowned genius.

Ahh, his father's pretentiousness; also inherited. Like his features, looks from his father, eyes from his mother, knobbly-knees from one of his grandparents in the mirror of Erised… If everything was inherited, simply part of someone else… what was he?

-0-

It was probably his own fault he failed to acknowledge the appropriate reasoning for many of the seemingly fine looking escalators to be broken.

Reflecting back, Harry was surprised to be caught so… no, Harry hated himself for being caught so off guard. It was a stupid error… one that he could have avoided if he had simply understood the real gravity, the TRUE, the _REAL PROPER _understanding of what he was undertaking. He was making himself a pariah. He was alienating himself from _everyone._ If someone does that, when they see someone they knew; they do not do what Harry did.

-0-

"Percy?!"

A flash of red hair stopped suddenly, before twisting suddenly around. Percy's eyes widened considerably, glanced down at the rather large bag in his hand before looking back up with a charmingly fake smile planted on his face and taking root.

"Harry!" He proclaimed in a sing-song, I'm not doing wrong, tone, leaning on his side slightly to hide the bag behind him. He was oddly chipper regarding the circumstances, "Fancy bumping into you, eh?"

"Yeah… What are the odds" Harry began slowly, inquisition dripping from his tone, to only go unnoticed or ignored by the now fidgeting Percy in front of him.

His eyes were wide with caution, as he glanced round slightly. "Say, what are you doing here Harry?" The smile slipping slightly.

Harry blinked at him slowly. "I could ask you the same thing" Began Harry, and interrupted Percy as his mouth opened to protest some squawk of an excuse involving the minister and the royal frog hybrid; "but I won't."

Percy stoned silent, stared at the boy as if only now seeing him for the first time. He tilted his head slightly.

Harry continued, "Let's just say… I'm doing the same thing, _you_ are doing."

Percy's eyebrow raised in curiosity, his eyes darkened with emotion:

"Oh?"

_Tom Riddle's well structured eye brow raised suddenly, his eyes darkening to the degree of a predator "Oh, Really? Do go on, then! Entertain me with glorious tales of victor-"_

"And what, exactly, am I doing, Mister Potter?" Came Percy's scathing tone like a fresh breathe of air.

"…Making up for lost time," Harry replied breathlessly. Percy's face grew dark and deadly, he saw the boy before him as a threat, to him and his family. But, Harry continued, ignoring the now quivering boy, "or rather, for time that will be, should everything turn to ash."

Percy's breathe turned shallow, his fists, vice-like claws, and he sucked in a breath ready to breath acid onto the lost runaway.

"You think you're so helpless, don't you; Poor Harry all on his own, in a world that doesn't change to suit his every whim. Well, it's not _all _about you, Boy! You're not the only one that suffered in this world and you won't be the last, not in many years to come! If you hadn't run away like a cat with its tail stepped on, the world would have a fighting chance, and we had a chance with you. But now you've gone, and look where I find you! Gallivanting off in the muggle world like your true world doesn't exist, the world you were born into. If you just manned up the world wouldn't be crumbling, Potter, the world would still have a symbol of hope, Potter, and you were the only thing keeping our dreams alive, _Potter!_"

Percy huffed deeply, before regaining composure. He looked like a frizzed up cat which was the oddest comparison to an otherwise threatening speech.

"The world had hope …The-Boy-Who-Lived, was an icon… Proof that we could still fight in the face of the most horrid times of evil; that was the ministry's plan… But, then you went and – Why did you - ?"

Percy's speech was broken now, fragments tumbled out of his mouth, having dropped his bag in the hissed frenzy, a rubber duck in a plastic cage of protection dropped out; it was purple and seemed to be wearing something like a robe and had a printed staff. Merlin Duck.

"…It's your dad's birthday soon… Is that for him?" Harry whispered quietly.

Percy drew a shocked glance down to the fallen gift; he hastily wrapped it back up with a muttered agreement. Percy kept his head down as he organised his bag.

"I… am Harry Potter." Harry began softly his eyes, tracing the floor tiles, noting the sharp tilt of the head from the boy packing the duck back into the bag with incredible slowness, from the corner of them.

"When my… Parent's died… I survived… People tell me I must kill the man who killed them…"

His voice trailed off with false bravado. It picked up again slowly, slowly, slowly articulating every word to be exactly the word he wanted, and exactly the word he _meant_.

"But… what people seem to forget and… keep forgetting… is that despite everything…"

Harry looked sharply into the eyes of the elder.

"I am… just a boy. I am… too young… to be at war. I am too young… to deal with the madness… that is the… wizarding world.

I am broken.

And from what I've observed. The Wizarding World, doesn't care if it breaks me further."

Harry's eyes turned slightly glassy, his voice trembling.

"I never wanted fame; nor glory; nor victory; just as much as I didn't want my parent's dead; to kill at 11, to slay a beautiful creature at 12."

Harry stare hardened.

"I am just a boy. And I didn't want any of this. So I left."

Percy's face was stoic. He slowly picked himself up, and made sure he was as composed as ever, before turning to face the boy.

"Harry. We – the Wizarding World – don't care. That is the price you must pay, this is who you are. You were born magical. So must live in the magical world. Yes, it's dangerous. What isn't? But, you _belong here; _with wizards, not muggles." He pinched the bridge between his nose in exasperation, as if talking to a toddler.

"You belong here with us, Harry. No amount of this behaviour is going to change that."

-0-

Harry snorted to himself, and began to walk away from the older lad.

"Then we have nothing more to discuss." Harry said finally. Percy looked up stricken for a moment, before his face relaxed.

"I suppose not." Percy murmured in reply. He remained standing still looking curiously at a patch on the floor. Harry was a fair distance away, when he heard above the rippling crowd, a chilling sound.

"Oh why hello, Mister Malfoy! Fancy seeing such an established and well respected member of the ministry here, a special occasion perhaps?" Percy's voice echoed from the glass dome above them, the voice bouncing loudly.

He supposed there was a murmured reply, as Harry couldn't hear, but what he did hear, made Harry's blood run cold.

"Why, yes actually, he had to dash, I'm afraid, but he went over in that direction, if you hurry you can still catch him. Hopefully, you'll do a better job at convincing the poor boy, he seems so confused. Farewell, Sir!"

-0-

Harry gasped, and ran. It had all been a lure, a trap, the escalators not working, electronics don't work around those with Magic! How had he forgotten, probably wondering over the magnificent yet useless fountain! Oh Harry you stupid idiot!

Percy was bait. He was waiting. How did they know, how could they have possibly have found out? He was so careful, so cautious.

Fury gripped his bones, and swelled in his blood like a clot in all the vessels. His vision tinted pink and Harry disappeared with haste. He was spiralling through the air, his vision span, he couldn't see a thing. He was too angry to. He landed in a field, a random field. Good. Random is good. The grass beneath him withered and died – Magically caused.

Lily's infamous anger; inherited from his mother.

Maybe he was Frankenstein's Monster. Not even left alone to discover who he is.


End file.
